


The Long Delay

by AVegetarianCannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Accidental Sex, Accidental Stimulation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Frottage, Love at First Sight, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay, Sappy, but they're too clueless to realize it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 15:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13662030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: Can't a guy just jerk off in peace?





	The Long Delay

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a little over a week after Hannibal and Will first meet. This is an AU. Hannibal is probably _not_ a murderer and cannibal for the purposes of this story. The only thing standing in the way of these two dorks getting together is their own cluelessness, which is considerable.

He's had erotic dreams every night for a week and at first, they were kind of a welcome respite from the hellscape dreams about killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Who _wouldn't_ like to dream about getting a really nice, patiently paced blowjob and a little butthole tickle from some unseen and generous lover?

Now, though, they're getting to be kind of a hassle. Whoever's blowing him never actually gets him off and he ends up feeling sort of restlessly horny for the rest of the day even if he jerks off after he wakes up. It's distracting as hell. In a lecture yesterday, he very nearly said "masturbate" instead of "manuscript." He can't figure out what's changed in his life that he suddenly has more sex dreams in a week than he usually has in an entire year.

He's just about to go take care of business when his phone buzzes beside him.

"I'm picking you up in a few minutes." It's Jack Crawford, sounding grim and authoritative as usual. "I've got Dr. Lecter with me. There's a crime scene outside Bedford, Pennsylvania. Just a quick trip so we're driving."

Will rubs his boner through his shorts. "How many minutes is a few minutes?" he asks.

"We're just turning onto the road to your house," Jack says.

Hannibal speaks up in the background. "Tell him I've brought breakfast for him to eat in the car, and coffee, as well."

Will is touched. More than a little annoyed at having to go, but definitely touched that Hannibal---and that's how he already thinks of him, although he wouldn't call him anything but Dr. Lecter out loud---would be so thoughtful towards him.

"Did you hear that?" Jack asks.

Will sighs. "Yeah, I heard."

* * *

He manages to get dressed and have the dogs out for their morning constitutional, but there's no time for anything else before Jack ushers him into the car. To his dismay, Hannibal gets into the back seat with him and starts unpacking breakfast. Will tries to sit in such a way that his persistent erection isn't so obvious. If Hannibal notices, he's at least polite enough not to mention it.

"It's just leftovers heated up," Hannibal says. "It was all I could pull off in the time allotted me."

"You needn't have gone through the trouble," Will assures him. "Most mornings I just have coffee anyway."

"Nonsense," Hannibal says with a small huff. "Most important meal of the day and all that."

"Just don't spill any of it," Jack says over his shoulder. "This is _my_ car, not the Bureau's."

Will's horror only grows when Hannibal unfurls a napkin and lays it over his lap. The tenting is not entirely subtle. He wonders if spilling blazing hot coffee on his groin would help any.

* * *

At the end of a long, long day, they leave the crime scene to the police and climb back into Jack Crawford's car. All Will can think about is getting home, getting under a hot shower, and beating off until his dick can't even _think_ about getting hard again. He'll just try to relax in the backseat in the meantime.

To his horror, they exit the freeway no more than a couple of miles from the place they just left.

"Where are we going?" he asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"The Bureau signed off on an overnight," Jack says. "Hope you don't mind rooming with Hannibal."

Will can now see that they're going to pull into a Marriott parking lot. "No!" he shouts, way too loudly. Jack raises his eyebrows at him in the rear-view mirror. Hannibal turns slightly in the front seat to look at him. "I mean... why aren't we going home?"

"Couple of homicide detectives want a consult with you," Jack says. "First thing in the morning."

"My dogs," Will starts. "You said this was going to be a quick trip."

"I took the liberty of asking Alana Bloom to step in," Jack says. "She says she's taken care of them before and knows the routine."

Will's mouth drops open at the brazenness. Liberty? _Liberty_ hardly begins to cover it! Not that it's surprising Jack would just nose his way in where it doesn't belong.

He wants to fume and curse and maybe roll out of the moving car, but instead he asks, "Can't we just come back in the morning?"

"I'm tired," Jack says. "I'm not driving a hundred-fifty miles tonight---and before you ask, no, _you_ can't drive my car."

He opens his mouth to demand a room of his own, but he doesn't want to seem rude to Hannibal. A week earlier he wouldn't have cared. They barely knew each other then and he didn't like the guy at all. But now he frantically tries to think of some other excuse... a somewhat polite excuse... to avoid having to share a room. Should he say he's sick? No, Hannibal would probably insist on examining him, or taking care of him.

"I-I'm not a very good roommate," he says weakly. "I toss and turn. I'll keep you up."

Hannibal flashes him a smile. "Don't worry about me, Will. Whatever you do won't bother me in the least. Believe me, I'm a hard sleeper."

Will grumbles under his breath.. "Yeah, me too lately."

* * *

Hannibal lets him into the room first, then asks, "Are you horny?"

Will nearly stumbles over his own feet. " _What?!_ "

"I asked if you were hungry," Hannibal says again.

Will laughs with relief. Truth be told, with the dual distractions of work and his own persistent arousal, he hasn't given a thought to his stomach.

"I could eat," he admits. He checks the honor bar and finds a small baggie of chili-flavored corn chips, two packs of M&Ms, bottled water and miniature vodka bottles. "Um... I'm actually fine with these options but you might not be."

Hannibal peers over his shoulder. "Hm."

Will suddenly sees his chance for a few minutes alone. "I'll go ask downstairs if there's someplace still open."

"We could call the desk---"

Will is already halfway out the door. "I need to stretch my legs anyway!"

* * *

He can't remember running so fast in his life. When he bursts into the lobby, the young man at the desk looks visibly startled.

"Do you know a pizza place that's still open?"

"Y-yeah, Mama Caputo's should still be---"

"Awesome," Will interrupts. Unfortunately, the running has made things worse by jiggling his junk. "Could you do me a favor and call them and have a large supreme pizza sent up to my room with a thin crust if they have it and a six-pack of beer if they sell that and then tell me where the men's room is please oh and here, keep whatever the delivery person doesn't take." He throws two twenties onto the desk.

The young man takes a few seconds to parse all that before replying very slowly. "Yeah... large supreme... sure, I guess so..." He points around the far side of the desk with all the urgency and speed of a drowsy sloth. "The men's room is that way, but it's out of service till maintenance comes back tomorrow."

Will lets out a gurgling sort of groan and tilts his face heavenward.

"I was gonna say you can use the women's," the young man goes on. "I don't think anyone's in there, but knock first just in case."

Will considers it, but ultimately decides that there's something creepier about jacking off in the women's bathroom than in the men's bathroom, somehow. And even as horny as he is, he's not quite willing to go full-on creep just yet.

He takes back the twenties. "I'll order the pizza myself." He digs back into his wallet for a five to repay the poor guy for startling him.

* * *

He doesn't want to fall asleep in the event his dream lover visits again, but a belly full of pizza and beer knocks him right out.

Garrett Jacob Hobbs awaits him at this latest crime scene, still wearing the bloody shirt he died in. "See?" he whispers, pointing at the shallow grave where the victim was found. " _Seeeeeee?_ "

Will laughs and runs over to shake Hobbs's hand. "You don't know how glad I am to see you!"

Hobbs frowns. "You know this is a nightmare, right?"

"Yes, and I'm so relieved!" Will all but shouts. He gestures down at his crotch. "Look how flaccid I am! It's like a tube sock full of oatmeal!" He starts to unzip his trousers. "You wanna see?"

Hobbs throws his arms over his eyes and makes a disgusted sound. "Gah! Keep your oatmeal wiener to yourself, you freak!"

Then he disappears into nothingness.

A sense of dread creeps over Will. The air grows colder around him, the sky rapidly darker. The sun dives beneath the horizon and the moon doesn't replace it. It's so dark, Will can no longer see the crime scene around him. He can't even see his own hands when he holds them up in front of his face. It's like being in a sensory deprivation tank...

....and then an unseen hand cups his balls.

"God damn it," Will whispers.

His pants are gone. His shorts are gone. His own damn mind undressed him in an instant to give his dream lover easy access. He's not even standing up anymore, but sprawled out flat on his back with his legs spread like he's taking his perineum on a sightseeing tour. The now-familiar mouth sucks him down while invisible fingers lightly massage the underside of his balls just the way he likes. It only figures, since it's his own mind and who else knows better what he likes?

"You could at least get me off this time," Will says to his dream lover. To himself. "I don't even care if I cream my shorts. I just really wanna finish."

The dream lover laughs softly. "Are you so sure about that?" a whispered voice asks, because in a dream you can give someone a blowjob _and_ talk at the same time.

Will thinks. He thinks some more. It's not easy, because he's in the middle of getting excellent head, and thinking clearly in dreams isn't always easy anyway. If this were reality, he'd---

"Oh shit," he says.

If he comes in his dream, is he going to come in reality, too? Maybe. Probably. He doesn't have extra underwear. What if he makes noise? Oh God, what if he makes a _lot_ of noise? Hannibal could hear him.

"I see we're on a first-name basis now," says the voice between his legs.

Will looks down and sees Hannibal sucking his dick. Holy shit, his mouth his perfect. It's perfect. How did Will never notice he had such a perfect mouth before? And such long, strong fingers, two of which are currently sliding easily into his ass without lube because it's still a dream. Thank God it's still just a dream.

"Why _don't_ you call me by my first name?" Hannibal asks, still sucking. "You call Jack by his first name."

"But Jack is just Jack," Will says. "I don't care about Jack. You're different. It-it feels too intimate. Or something. I don't know! I can't think when you keep rubbing my prostate! God, my dreaming mind is the fucking worst."

"I sure am," Hannibal agrees. With that, he looks up, winks, and vanishes.

Will wails in frustration. His bare cock has been left wet and hard and completely unsatisfied. Again.

* * *

He finds himself gasping for breath and grabbing his balls to an almost painful degree.

The instant he's aware he's back in the waking world, he glances towards Hannibal's bed and _oh thank fuck_ he's still asleep.

Will runs as quietly as he can into the bathroom, closes the door behind him, and turns on the shower. If the sound of the water wakes Hannibal, well, that's just too bad. It's better than waking him up with loud grunty orgasm noises.

Just to be extra safe, he rolls up a washcloth and puts it between his teeth. He's had way too much build up to guarantee a quiet resolution even if he tries his level best.

With the water at his back, he lathers up his hands and prepares to have the cleanest cock in the entire eastern US. He's not going to do anything fancy, he's not going to draw things out. No ass play, no nipple twiddling, no variable pumping rhythm.... none of it. Just the fastest, most efficient wank he can manage. Get it over with at last.

He's no more than ten strokes into sweet relief when there's a knock at the bathroom door.

"Memph?" he calls out. He takes the towel out of his mouth. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid it's a bit of an emergency," Hannibal calls back. "That pizza isn't sitting well with me."

Will strokes faster. "Can you wait maybe three minutes?"

"Not without dire consequences," Hannibal says.

"Fuck," Will says under his breath. Louder, he says, "I'll be right out!"

He wraps a towel around his waist and holds his undershirt and shorts in front of his crotch to hide his freesia-scented erection.

"My apologies," Hannibal says, brushing past him.

Will bites his tongue at the brief contact of their bodies and mumbles something that he hopes sounds more like "no problem" than "do that again."

Because it _is_ a problem. The _whole thing_ is a problem. He is chagrined to realize this recent burst of sex dreams might, in fact, be due to meeting Hannibal. Is it some latent doctor kink he never realized he had? Is it just the stress of working for Jack Crawford that's causing his mind---and his genitals---to latch on to the nearest source of release? The mental image of his genitals latching on to anything makes him wince, so he holds a cold mini bottle of vodka to his crotch for a couple minutes before getting dressed.

If he can just make it through the rest of the morning, he should be home by lunchtime and beating his dick into submission.

* * *

His plan does not work out the way it was supposed to.

For some reason that he doesn't really pay attention to, they have to meet the detectives at the FBI field office in Pittsburgh. So that's just going to add another 120 miles round trip before he can make it home. He'll be lucky if he gets his pants off before the middle of the afternoon.

"You look tense," Hannibal says from the back seat.

"I'm always tense," Will snaps.

Hannibal reaches around the headrest to lay his hands on Will's shoulders. "Perhaps a massage would help. Tell me how _hard_ you want it, Will, and I'll oblige."

Will gasps so sharply he almost chokes on his own spit. "Dr. Lecter! What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to make you feel better," Hannibal says. "Let me make you feel better. I'll do you however you'd like... and then I'll do you however _I'd_ like."

Mouth agape, Will turns in his seat to look at Jack, but Jack just keeps driving as if a porno isn't about to break out in his own damn car. God forbid someone spill coffee in his car, but this is apparently fine.

"This--this is highly inappropriate, Doctor," Will says.

"Perhaps you need a penile massage," Hannibal suggests, his voice a low purr.

Will sputters. "Is that even a thing?!"

Suddenly he's in the back seat with Hannibal, with no memory of how he got there. His shirt is off and his pants are down around his knees. His cock stands at full attention, bobbing and swaying whenever the car drives over bumps in the road.

Garrett Jacob Hobbs appears in the front passenger seat. "Seeeeeeeee," he whispers. "See, it's not a tube sock full of oatmeal anymore."

"Oh shit," Will says as the realization finally dawns on him. "I fell asleep in the car. Didn't I?"

"You certainly did." Hannibal wraps one strong hand around his naked cock and gives it a firm squeeze. "Shall we pick up where we left off?" He leans over and puts his talented mouth to work.

"N-no," Will says with great difficulty. "I-I can't do this i-in a car with Jack driving."

"I don't mind," Jack says.

"The _real_ Jack," Will clarifies, as if dream Jack deserves any explanation.

"He wouldn't begrudge you a therapeutic orgasm," Hannibal says, once again magically talking with his mouth full. "And I am, after all, your therapist."

"No, you're not," Will says. "You're a figment of my horny imagination. Now get your tongue off my slit and let me wake the fuck up!"

He sits up with a start, disoriented because he's in the front seat again instead of the back. His right hand darts up to his mouth to wipe away the drool while his left reflexively covers his crotch.

"Good timing," Jack---the real Jack---says beside him. "We're here."

Will could argue that there's nothing good about his timing lately, but he decides to just focus on trying to get through the rest of the morning.

* * *

He surreptitiously untucks his shirt as he gets into the elevator. He's so hard that he doesn't even care that he looks sloppy and unprofessional. It would be worse to walk into their meeting looking like he was smuggling a traffic cone in his pants.

He waits at the back of the elevator and closes his eyes. He tells himself to focus on the work, but then he feels Hannibal moving closer to him--- _really_ close. Their outer thighs are touching, and it just won't do at all.

When he opens his eyes, he sees quite a crowd assembled. A least ten people have crowded into the small elevator and Hannibal has moved to allow them room.

"Wh-what's going on?" Will asks.

"Someone had a heart attack on the stairs," Jack says. "Paramedics are over there, so everyone's taking the elevator up."

And it really does seem to be damned near everyone. A UPS delivery, two from FedEx, someone with a large bouquet of flowers, several employees...

Will squishes himself back as far as he can.

"Are you claustrophobic?" Hannibal asks.

"Um, it's mostly the crowd size," Will says.

"Here, let's see if this helps," Hannibal says. "I'll provide a physical barrier."

With that, Hannibal moves from his side and squeezes into the slim space directly in front of him. Will can feel that surprisingly perky ass pressed right up against his raging boner.

"Is this better?" Hannibal asks, twisting slightly to look at Will.

The small movement rubs against him. It's only half an inch of movement, but he's still so turned on that it feels like a full-fisted stroke.

"N-not really," Will says.

Hannibal tries to shift to the side again---more movement---but the elevator is now so crowded that he can't get back to his original position.

"Perhaps I could turn to face you," Hannibal suggests.

"No!" Will all but shouts. "No! I mean, no, don't bother, it's fine. It's fine! It'll be a short trip."

There is more jostling as everyone tries to work out where they're standing. Will wonders if he could fit his hand between his dick and Hannibal's ass, but realizes that would probably be worse. His dick through both their trousers is at least an ambiguous shape, but there's no mistaking a hand and he really doesn't want to be accused of playing grab ass with his therapist.

But he can't keep going the way he's going, either. It's an unwinnable situation. He's been so aroused for so long that the completely incidental closeness of Hannibal's buttocks is starting to get him off. He feels the front of his shorts getting a little wet. He bites his lower lip and tries to think of unsexy things. Income taxes... the smell of rotting fish... actual mushroom people... Nothing works. It just makes him picture Hannibal wearing nothing but a fishing vest, standing in a field of mushrooms and seductively licking a calculator. _Fuck_.

The elevator lurches.

Time slows to a crawl, as it does in the split second before two cars crash. Every moment, every _fraction_ of a moment, is drawn out in agonizing clarity. The lurch sends Hannibal's ass bouncing against Will's erection. Will tries to smash his own ass backwards into the elevator wall to avoid it, but this is folly! Pure folly! His attempt only sends him ricocheting back into Hannibal's firm yet supple ass cheek as the elevator lurches again. The underside of his cock drags against the fly of his shorts---down, then up, and down once more. He feels his balls drawing up. He's going to come. He's going to come because he accidentally dry-humped his therapist's ass in a crowded elevator. He is, in the end, a full-on creep.

Suddenly, Hannibal takes a step forward as the elevator loses some of its occupants. Will gasps at the loss of contact, but it's too late.

It is literally the lamest orgasm of his life, barely a shiver of sensation after all that buildup, but the relief is so intensely sweet that he throws back his head and laughs. He barely even cares that he has to deal with sticky shorts for the rest of the morning.

* * *

When they finally get to his house that afternoon, Will is surprised that Hannibal gets out of the car with him.

"You sure you don't want me to drive you all the way to your place?" Jack asks him.

"I called for a car to meet me here," Hannibal tells him. He waits for Jack to drive away, then turns to Will. "I thought we should talk."

Will swallows hard. His mind races. _He knows. Hannibal knows. Somehow, he knows. He's looked into my goddamn bone arena and seen my sinful thoughts._

"Just let me let the dogs out first," Will says.

He can't delay the inevitable any longer than that. However unintentional his actions, he needs to apologize for them, and he can't apologize without explaining the whole sordid mess. Doubtless he'll lose his new therapist, but that seems trivial compared to the loss of a new friend.

"I'm sorry," he starts as the dogs all rush past him and into the field.

At the same time, Hannibal says, "I just want you to know it's perfectly natural."

Will frowns. "What?"

"You seemed uncomfortable at several points during the trip," Hannibal says. "I want to put your mind at ease as much as I can."

This... isn't going quite the way he expected. "You're not mad?"

Hannibal gives him a smile that looks oddly wistful. "A bit jealous, although I shouldn't admit it to you, professionally speaking."

Now Will's _really_ confused. "What do you have to be jealous of?"

Hannibal glances away as if he can't bear to maintain eye contact. "I find it remarkable that my feelings haven't been obvious---or perhaps they are, and you're trying to spare them. If you're giving me an exit so I can save face, I should take it. I'll just meet my ride in the road, if you don't mind."

Will grabs his hand before he can make it out of the driveway. Hannibal looks at their hands, startled, and Will lets go.

"I heard the dream you were having in the hotel," Hannibal finally says, "about Jack Crawford."

Will gapes at him. "What!"

"And it's perfectly natural," Hannibal hurries to say. "He's an authority figure for you, and attractive, so it's natural to develop an attraction or even deeper feelings. The way you were moaning his name, I imagine it's the latter."

"I wasn't dreaming about Jack Crawford," Will explains. "I was moaning because I was getting... attentions... from someone else. I was arguing about Jack with... _someone else_."

Hannibal appears to think this over for quite a long while before frowning. "Wait---what were you apologizing for?"

Will blinks. "What?"

"When I said we should talk," Hannibal reminds him. "You said you were sorry."

Will feels his face heating up all over again. "Oh, that. Look, there's no excusing it, but in the elevator, it was so crowded---"

"You ejaculated," Hannibal finishes for him.

"How did you--"

"I have an excellent sense of smell. Plus I felt your erection, which I assumed was left over from your dream about Jack Crawford---"

"God damn it, Hannibal, I was dreaming about you!"

Hannibal blinks. "Did you just call me by my given name?" He blinks again. "Did you just say you were dreaming about me?"

Will sighs. He might as well get it all out. Everything's probably ruined beyond repair, so he might as well be completely honest.

"Starting about two days after we met, yes, I started having dreams about you. I didn't know it was you at first, but it clearly is, and I know that dreams don't necessarily reflect reality, but in this case they do, and I clearly have feelings for you even though we barely know each oth---wait a minute." He replays the beginning of this conversation in his mind. "Did you say _you_ have feelings for _me_ , and that's why you were jealous of Jack Crawford?"

Hannibal goes through about a dozen facial expressions and opens and closes his mouth several times, as if he can't decide what to say. "I feel I've been terribly unprofessional. It's quite unlike me."

"That's _not_ an answer," Will points out.

"I don't even know why I brought it up in the first place," Hannibal says. "Except that I find I can't think clearly where you're concerned."

Will thinks about that for a while. Hannibal looks miserable. He has to let him off the hook. "Maybe you shouldn't be my therapist anymore."

Hannibal's eyes go wide. "No, Will---"

"I meant maybe you should date me instead," Will interrupts. He wants very badly to just invite Hannibal into the house and into his bed, but argues himself into taking a more restrained path. "I've never really dated anyone in the traditional sense of the word, so I have only a vague idea of what it entails, but I guess dinner and drinks? Get to know each other?"

"Does tomorrow night sound good to you?" Hannibal asks.

Will grins and nods. Hannibal grins and nods back at him. They stand there in the driveway like a couple of dumbasses for a couple of minutes until Hannibal's ride shows up to whisk him away. Will watches the road for a while and feels pretty good about asking Hannibal out instead of in. This kind of thing appears to be new to the both of them. The correct thing to do is take things slowly. He nods to himself, satisfied.

* * *

About an hour and a half later, having driven faster than is wise or entirely legal, he's pounding on Hannibal's front door.

"A thought occurred to me," Will says the instant a surprised-looking Hannibal opens the door. "That shitty pizza and beer last night? We've already had dinner and drinks."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow as he shows him inside. "You'll have to tell me precisely what you mean by this, as I find I can't trust my own interpretation of situations lately."

"It means---it means---" Will grumbles with frustration. He grabs the front of Hannibal's shirt and pulls him into a kiss.

It is an inelegant kiss, due in no small part to the fact that they're both trying to touch each other everywhere _and_ tear off their clothes at the same time. Having only two hands suddenly seems like a terrible iniquity, because it prevents him running his fingers through Hannibal's hair and undoing his buttons and grabbing that perky ass all in one go.

He walks Hannibal backwards into the formal dining room, backs him up against the table. They pull apart long enough to make eye contact. Finally, there's no confusion about what either of them wants.

He manages to get Hannibal's pants off, and it's such a miracle that he almost thinks he's only dreaming again. He supposes the only way to know for sure is to keep going and see if he actually gets to come this time.

"I want to show you exactly what you do to me in my dreams," Will says. "Is that all right?"

"It far exceeds all right," Hannibal says.

"Up," he says, and Hannibal understands that he's meant to sit on the edge of the table.

Will pulls Hannibal's underwear down so fast and rough that he nearly tears them, but he suspects he's not the only one who doesn't mind and---good God, that's the prettiest cock he could ever imagine. Long with a gentle curve upward, it's the very same pink of Hannibal's lips with a paler foreskin that pulls back from the gleaming head like it's offering up a gift. Will stretches his jaw and leans down to take it into his mouth.

He does everything he can remember his dream lover doing, as if his mind was giving him sex tips all along. He licks down the underside of the shaft with his tongue flattened, then back up with the tip pointed to finish with a flutter along the slit. He kisses, slurps, twirls and teases---every move earning him Hannibal's appreciative and increasingly frantic whispers of his name. Will puckers his lips and sucks at the frenulum at about half hickey-making power. Hannibal trades whispering for making the neediest, most undignified noises Will has probably ever heard in his life. Encouraged, he nudges Hannibal's thighs further apart and goes in for the butthole tickle.

"Oh," Hannibal says above him.

It sounds so simple, so matter-of-fact, that Will thinks at first he's done something wrong... and then Hannibal's cock paints the roof of his mouth with slick liquid heat. Will swallows everything he can and keeps sucking him through every twitching aftershock.  He has to reach down and give his own dick a commanding squeeze to keep from going right over the edge with him.

"Oh," Hannibal says again. "Oh, _Will_."

Will straightens up, feels another dopey grin spreading across his face. "That good, huh?"

Hannibal gets off the table and pulls him into a kiss. After the salty tang of his spunk, his tongue tastes especially sweet. Will could be completely satisfied just kissing him for the rest of the night. Well, almost completely.

Luckily, Hannibal is all about the reciprocity. "Now I want you to show me," he says, "what you _really_ wanted to do to me in the elevator."

Without being asked, he turns around, bends over, and braces his hands on the table.

Will scoots up close to him, as close as they were to each other in the elevator, and lets the underside of his cock smack the top of Hannibal's ass crack. Then he drags it downward, down until it's nestled in the sweet peachy curve of his butt cheeks.

Hannibal starts to spread his legs, but Will stops him.

"No, just like in the elevator. Just stand there."

He's already so close, so teeteringly close, that he barely has to rut against Hannibal before he feels his orgasm building. He snugs their bodies up together, trapping his aching cock between them both, grabs Hannibal by his narrow hips and lets the hot, damp friction of skin on skin finish him off. Unlike the elevator incident, he comes in powerful waves that leave him off-balance and shuddering, and he drops his forehead against Hannibal's back just below the nape of his neck. Still he keeps moving, the hot slip of his semen dripping between them making it feel even better as he fucks all along Hannibal's crack. He doesn't stop until he's almost gone completely soft, then he turns Hannibal back around to face him.

"That," he says, panting, "is what I wanted to do to you."

* * *

"Jack Crawford will have to find you another therapist, I suppose."

They've since made it up to Hannibal's bed and are currently lying in a jumbled, sweaty heap of pleasantly weakened and loose limbs.

Will frowns. "But I _like_ working with you on cases. I don't _want_ anyone else in my head."

"You can still come to me," Hannibal says. "For advice, to think out loud, whatever you need. I just won't be paid for it."

"Or we could just not tell Jack," Will says. "Or do you think it would be obvious to everyone?"

"It would very much be obvious to everyone," Hannibal says.

"Yeah, I guess," Will sighs.

Hannibal makes a little sound of agreement. "I want to be free to publicly gaze at you as if I want to kiss every inch of your body at every possible opportunity. Because I do."

"That's _nearly_ as sappy as I would've put it," Will says.

Hannibal shifts around to look at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Will turns to look at him, too. "I imagine the look on my face, every time I look at you, will show that I dreamed about you again and again, and then somehow... you turned out to be even better in real life..."

 

 

 

The End

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was literally supposed to be a 500 word crack fic about Will accidentally having an orgasm in an elevator.


End file.
